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The Poems of Felicia Hemans

Mrs. Hemans

_Rai._ With such deep love! He ever loved you most! His spirit seem’d To linger for your coming. _Aym._ What! he thought That I was on my way! He look’d for me? And I---- _Rai._ You came not! I had sent to you, And told you he was wounded. _Aym._ Yes--but not-- Not _mortally_! _Rai._ ’Twas not that outward wound-- _That_ might have closed; and yet he surely thought That you would come to him! He call’d on you When his thoughts wander’d! Ay, the very night, The very hour he died, some hasty step Enter’d his chamber--and he raised his head, With a faint lightning in his eyes, and ask’d If it were yours! That hope’s brief moment pass’d-- He sank then. _Aym._ (_throwing himself upon his brother’s neck._) Brother! take me to his grave, That I may kneel there, till my burning tears, With the strong passion of repentant love, Wring forth a voice to pardon me! _Rai._ You weep! _Tears_ for the garlands on a maiden’s grave! You know not _how_ he died! _Aym._ Not of his wound? _Rai._ His wound!--it is the silent spirit’s wound, We cannot reach to heal! One burning thought Prey’d on his heart. _Aym._ Not--not--he had not heard-- He bless’d _me_, Rainier? _Rai._ Have you flung away Your birthright? Yes! he bless’d you!--but he died --He whose name stood for Victory’s--he believed The ancient honour from his gray head fall’n, And died--he died of _shame_! _Aym._ What feverish dream---- _Rai._ (_vehemently._) Was it not lost, the warrior’s latest field, The noble city held for Palestine Taken--the Cross laid low? I came too late To turn the tide of that disastrous fight, But not to rescue him. We bore him thence Wounded, upon his shield---- _Aym._ And I was _here_! _Rai._ He cast one look back on his burning towers, Then threw the red sword of a hundred fields To the earth--and hid his face! I knew, I knew His heart was broken! Such a death for _him_! --The wasting--the sick loathing of the sun-- Let the foe’s charger trample out my life, Let me not die of _shame_! But we will have-- _Aym._ (_grasping his hand eagerly._)Yes! vengeance! _Rai._ Vengeance! By the dying once, And once before the dead, and yet once more Alone with heaven’s bright stars, I took that vow For _both_ his sons! Think of it, when the night Is dark around you, and in festive halls Keep your soul hush’d, and think of it! _A low Chant of female voices, heard from behind the scenes._ Fall’n is the flower of Islam’s race! Break ye the lance he bore, And loose his war-steed from its place: He is no more-- _Single voice._ No more! Weep for him mother, sister, bride! He died, with all his fame-- _Single voice._ He died! _Aym._ (_Pointing to a palace, and eagerly speaking to his attendant, who enters._) Came it not thence? Rudolf, what sounds are these? _Att._ The Moslem prince, your captive--he is dead: It is the mourners’ wail for him. _Aym._ And she-- His sister--heard you--did they say she wept? [_Hurrying away._ _Rai._ (_indignantly_.) All the deep stirring tones of honour’s voice In a moment silenced! [_Solemn military music._ (_A funeral procession, with priests, &c., crosses the background to enter the church._) _Rai._ (_following_ Aymer _and grasping his arm._) Aymer! there--look there! It is your father’s bier! _Aym._ (_returning._) He bless’d me, Rainier? You heard him bless me? Yes! _you_ closed his eyes: He look’d for me in vain! [_He goes to the bier, and bends over it, covering his face._ ACT II. Scene I.--_A room in the Citadel._ Rainier, Aymer, _Knights_, _assembled in council_. _A Knight._ What! with our weary and distracted bands To dare another field! Nay, give them rest. _Rai._ (_impatiently._) Rest! and that sleepless thought---- _Knight._ These walls have strength To baffle siege. Let the foe gird us in-- We must wait aid; our soldiers must forget That last disastrous day. _Rai._ (_coming forward._) If they forget it, in the combat’s press May their spears fail them! _Knight._ Yet, bethink thee, chief. _Rai._ When _I_ forget it----how! you see not, knights! Whence we must _now_ draw strength. Send down your thoughts Into the very depths of grief and shame, And bring back courage _thence_! To talk of _rest_! How do they rest, unburied on their field, Our brethren slain by Gaza? Had we time To give them funeral rites? and ask we now Time to _forget_ their fall? My father died-- I cannot speak of him! What! and _forget_ The infidel’s fierce trampling o’er our dead? _Forget_ his scornful shout? Give battle now, While the thought lives as fire lives!--_there_ lies strength! Hold the dark memory fast! Now, now--this hour! --Aymer, you do not speak! _Aym._ (_starting._) Have I not said? Battle!--yes, give us battle!--room to pour The troubled spirit forth upon the winds, With the trumpet’s ringing blast! Way for remorse! Free way for vengeance! _All the Knights._ Arm! Heaven wills it so! _Rai._ Gather your forces to the western gate! Let none forget that day! Our field was lost, Our city’s strength laid low--one mighty heart Broken! Let none forget it! [_Exeunt._ Scene II.--_Garden of a Palace._ Moraima. _Mor._ Yes! his last look--my brother’s dying look Reproach’d me as it faded from his face. And I deserved it! Had I not given way To the wild guilty pleadings of my heart, I might have won his freedom! Now, ’tis past. He _is_ free now! Aymer _enters, armed as for battle_. Aymer! you look so changed! _Aym._ Changed!--it may be. A storm o’ the soul goes by Not like a breeze! There’s such a fearful grasp Fix’d on my heart! Speak to me--lull _remorse_! Bid me farewell! _Mor._ Yes! it _must_ be farewell! No other word but that. _Aym._ No other word! The passionate, burning words that I could pour From my heart’s depths! ’Tis madness! What have I To do with love? I see it all--the mist Is gone--the bright mist gone! I see the woe, The ruin, the despair! And yet I love, Love wildly, fatally! But speak to me! Fill all my soul once more with reckless joy! That blessèd voice again! _Mor._ Why, why is this? Oh! send me to my father! We must part. _Aym._ Part!--yes, I know it all! I could not go Till I had seen you! Give me one farewell, The last--perchance the last!--but one farewell, Whose mournful music I may take with me Through tumult, horror, death! [_A distant sound of trumpets._ _Mor._ (_starting._) You go to battle! _Aym._ Hear you not that sound? Yes! I go _there_, where dark and stormy thoughts Find their free path! _Mor._ Aymer! who leads the foe? (_Confused._) I meant--I mean--my people! Who is he, My people’s leader? _Aym._ Kaled. (_Looking at her suspiciously._) How! you seem-- The name disturbs you! _Mor._ My last brother’s name! _Aym._ Fear not _my_ sword for him! _Mor._ (_turning away._) If they should meet! I know the vow he made. (_To_ Aymer.) If thou--if _thou_ Shouldst fall! _Aym._ Moraima! then your blessèd tears Would flow for me? then you would weep for me? _Mor._ I must weep tears of very shame; and yet-- If--if your words have been love’s own true words, Grant me one boon! [_Trumpet sounds again._ _Aym._ Hark! I must hence. A boon! Ask it, and hold its memory to your heart, As the last token, it may be, of love So deep and sad. _Mor._ Pledge me your knightly faith! _Aym._ My knightly faith, my life, my honour--all, I pledge thee all to grant it! _Mor._ Then, to-day, Go not _this_ day to battle! He is there, My brother Kaled! _Aym._ (_wildly._) Have I flung my sword Down to dishonour? [_Going to leave her--she detains him._ _Mor._ Oh! your name hath stirr’d His soul amidst his tents, and he had vow’d, Long ere we met, to cross his sword with yours, Till one or both should fall. There hath been _death_ Since then, amongst us; he will seek _revenge._ And _his_ revenge--forgive me!--oh! forgive! --I could not bear _that_ thought! _Aym._ Now must the glance Of a brave man strike me to the very dust! Ay, this is _shame_. [_Covering his face._ (_Turning wildly to Moraima._) _You_ scorn me too? Away!--She does not know What she hath done! [_Rushes out._ Scene III.--_Before a gateway within the city._ Rainier, Herman, _Knights_, _Men-at-arms_, &c. _Her._ ’Tis past the hour. _Rai._ (_looking out anxiously._) Away! ’tis _not_ the hour-- Not yet! When was the battle’s hour delay’d For a Chatillon? We must have come too soon! All are not here. _Her._ Yes, all! _Rai._ They came too soon! [_Going up to the knights._ Couci, De Foix, Du Mornay--here, all here! And _he_ the last!--_my_ brother! (_To a Soldier._) Where’s your lord? (_Turning away._) Why should I ask, when that fair Infidel---- Aymer _enters_. The Saracen at our gates--and _you_ the last! Come on, remember all your fame! _Aym._ (_coming forward in great agitation._) My fame! --Why did you save me from the Paynim’s sword, In my first battle? _Rai._ What wild words are these? _Aym._ You should have let me perish _then_--yes, _then_! Go to your field and leave me! _Knights._ (_thronging round him._) Leave you! _Rai._ Aymer! Was it _your_ voice? _Aym._ _Now_ talk to me of fame! Tell me of all my warlike ancestors, And of my father’s death--that bitter death! Never did pilgrim for the fountains thirst As I for this day’s vengeance! To your field! --I may not go! _Rai._ (_turning from him._) The name his race hath borne Through a thousand battles--lost! (_Returning to_ Aymer.) A Chatillon! Will you _live_ and wed dishonour? _Aym._ (_covering his face._) Let the grave Take me and cover me! I must go down To its rest without my sword! _Rai._ There’s some dark spell upon him! Aymer, brother! Let _me_ not die of shame! He that died so Turn’d sickening from the sun! _Aym._ Where should I turn? [_Going up abruptly to the knights._ Herman--Du Mornay! ye have stood with me I’ the battle’s front--ye know me! ye have seen The fiery joy of danger bear me on As a wind the arrow! Leave me now--’tis past! _Rai._ (_with bitterness._) He comes from _her_!--the infidel hath _smiled_, Doubtless, for this. _Aym._ I should have been to-day Where shafts fly thickest, and the crossing swords Cannot flash out for blood!--Hark! you are call’d!